I am either deeply rooted in denial or I’m the new poster girl for eternal optimism. In the past week, I checked out these books from our local library.
And bought these books at the library’s used book sale two days ago,
Yesterday was Eye Treatment #11, and tests showed there was more fluid (bad) but no blood (good). There was the expected deterioration in vision because it’s been 10 weeks since my last treatment, and there are usually no more than 4 weeks between injections. This time, a first. My eyeball hurt for 48 hours. I couldn’t roll my eyes, move them side to side, or blink without flinching and wincing. All I wanted to do was sleep, and that was impossible because every time my eyes moved, sharp pains woke me up. I don’t know if you’ve tried it or not, but it’s hard to cradle and impossible to immobilize your eyeballs.
It usually takes about a week before the I notice improved vision, and I can’t wait because when I went back last week, the decline was becoming drastic. I turned on all (and I do mean all) the lights in a room and still there wasn’t enough. I wore the same clothes day after day because I couldn’t see well enough to distinguish cut and color. The dreaded black “thumbprint” didn’t come position itself in the center of my sight, but its predecessor, the gray veil, was back and darkening. Everything sported curves and waves, and even the most gigantic fonts could only be seen, but only as smudges. Couldn’t tell numbers from letters.
Two more days till the one week mark is here, though, so my hopefulness swells, and I am deeply, hugely, ginormously thankful for your continued support.
Do I feel stupid or regret lining up all these books to read? Not at all, though I do wonder why the sudden urge to hoard books. Perhaps it’s because my vision was so much improved in November that I grew false confidence. Or maybe it’s determination. I don’t look for the white flag yet, though. I have waaaaay too many ideas, art quilts to stitch, books to write, books to make, and books to read (of course).
And how ‘bout we make a deal? Any if you find typos here, please remember my wet macular degeneration and treat them as some kind of crossword puzzle on an adventure. Or blame it on auto-spell.
Pull up a chair why don't you, and let's talk . . .